Twelve Days of Christmas
by fuzzydream
Summary: She had always loved Christmas, ever since she was a little girl. He didn't particularly care for it, not after so many unhappy memories. But each Christmas is different from the other, and opinions and views could be changed. For both of them.
1. 1912

**Title:** Twelve Days of Christmas

**Summary: **She had always loved Christmas, ever since she was a little girl. He didn't particularly care for it, not after so many unhappy memories. But each Christmas is different from the other, and opinions and views could be changed. For both of them.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Downton Abbey.

**A/N: **I've been toying with this idea for quite some time now, ever since watching the Christmas Special. I had written two chapters a while ago and then this week I managed to write a few more, in a boost of inspiration. It's nice to be back from modern times (I'm still working on the modern story), so this felt like fresh air. I borrowed the title from the song and the Christian tradition, but this is truly about twelve different Christmases, starting in 1912. I really hope you'll like it.

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**Twelve Days of Christmas**

by _fuzzydream_

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_1912_

Anna had been really looking forward to Christmas. Not for presents or anything – she just loved the holiday. Its meaning, the joy... She had always loved Christmas, ever since she was a little girl.

Downton wasn't, of course, like any household, especially during Christmas, and that was something good in this case. To his own credit, she couldn't have ever wished for a better employer than the Earl of Grantham. As the servants were starting to gather around the table to celebrate their Christmas, she spotted Mr. Bates in the hallway. She went to talk to him, only to be stopped midway by Gwen, who put a paper hat on her head before heading to the servants' hall. She met Mr. Bates halfway, and he looked mighty amused at her sight.

It was good. Mr. Bates was a good friend, a fine person and he could be incredibly fun when he wanted to. And she liked him. Quite a lot, to be honest.

"I see that you're ready for Christmas," he said with a grin, looking at her paper hat.

"I see that you're not!" Anna said with a smile. "Even Mrs. Hughes wears a paper hat every year. You wouldn't want to feel left out."

"Will Mr. Carson and Thomas wear hats too?"

She looked sceptically at him. "Alright, you win. I do hope you'll enjoy Christmas here, though. We even get desserts today. You wouldn't want to miss that."

"I most definitely don't want to miss that," he said, his eyes glimpsing as he looked at her.

She smiled, "What?"

"You seem very happy today."

"I just love Christmas. My sisters and I always tried to stay up until some ungodly hour to see Santa when we were children," Anna said, "We never really got many presents, but it was always so much fun."

"Children have a special way of turning every moment into a moment of joy," he said a bit mysteriously, and Anna nodded in agreement, "I used to have a great time when I was a boy too, in Ireland."

"You've lived in Ireland, Mr. Bates?" Anna asked him interestedly.

He was always so cryptic, with so few words that she couldn't help but feel much more interested than she should. Really, why did it matter to her where he was from or where he lived? It certainly didn't. But there wasn't any harm on wanting to know it, was it? After all, she liked to think that they were friends. In fact, she held Mr. Bates in high regard. He was a good friend. Perhaps her best friend, apart from Gwen. But of course her relationship with Mr. Bates was so different from her and Gwen's friendship.

She just respected him, so much and even from the beginning. He was a good man. And they were good friends. She really enjoyed spending time with him.

Perhaps a bit more than she should.

There was also the fact that she was falling for him, and she knew it.

"My mother is Irish," he told her in a quiet voice, "We spent a few Christmases in Ireland. It was quite an adventure for a young lad."

She smiled at him; she could just envision him as a little boy, running around with no cares in the world, enjoying time with family and waiting for a Santa he never saw. He was adorable.

"I'm sure it was. Good times that don't come back, right?"

He smiled too, "Indeed they don't. But we'll always have the memories."

"Yes, we do," she agreed, "And we can always make new ones."

They shared a knowing look, and Gwen called for them from the table, a few feet away. Anna grinned at him.

He looked around for a moment before speaking.

"I'm afraid it's already Christmas and we're a bit too old to wait for Santa," he said quietly, "but I think we'll be able to make this a memorable one."

Anna was certain she would have melted if it wasn't for the cool breeze coming from the open courtyard door.

"Well, then we shouldn't wait another minute, should we?"

"We certainly shouldn't."

Somehow, with his presence and his smile, Mr. Bates made the Christmas of 1912 the happiest Anna had ever spent in Downton.

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**A/N: **I know it's simple, but I so miss the quieter times from the first series. I'll try to post the chapter for 1913 soon, depending on whether you liked this or not and if I'll be able to re-read it soon. We'll be having a lot of different situations within the next chapters, and I really hope you'll enjoy it.


	2. 1913

**A/N: **I'm really glad for all the response the first chapter had, and I really want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed. It really means a lot. Now, I really hope the Christmas of 1913 won't disappoint you! :)

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_1913_

He heard steps and knew it was her. She smiled when she saw him, and he wondered, not for the first time, how someone like her could love someone like him.

"Everyone's gone to bed already?" she asked. He nodded. "You'd have thought we'd want to stay up late on Christmas, but nobody forgets we're back to regular activities tomorrow."

He smiled as she sat up next to him, apparently with no intention of going to bed anytime soon. He knew what she wanted, and it hurt him that she wouldn't get it.

Not many months ago, in a burst of confidence, Anna told him she loved him, and he couldn't help but be surprised by that - either by the sudden revelation of the fact that she loved him. And yet, he couldn't tell her the proper response to such a confession. He couldn't tell her that he, too, was in love with her. Very much so.

He didn't want to - he wasn't free, he couldn't love her; he tried to tell himself that he didn't love her. But the worst lie of them all was to lie to yourself, and that's precisely what he did, for many months. But oh, how he loved her. And the fact that she told him so sincerely and a bit nervously that she loved him only added more affection to his love. For Anna was, indeed, a lady, a very fine lady, and also a brave one at that.

He looked around them once more, but he knew they were alone. He had been waiting for this moment since the day began, but it was difficult for them to be alone together.

"You seem so serious," Anna commented, and he had to smile at her tone. "Cheer up. It's Christmas. Do you want some tea? I can make you some."

She _really _was too good to him.

"Actually, it's not Christmas anymore," he pointed to the clock, "but I have something for you."

He didn't particularly care for Christmas, not after spending so many of them unhappily, sometimes in jail, at war, alone, or with bad company; Christmas just wasn't a particular season he loved. He wasn't very religious either, what didn't make matters any better, but he knew she loved the season, and she was beginning to change his opinion.

Her face acquired a trace of confusion and then understanding when he fished from his pocket a package.

"Mr. Bates," she started, and he already knew what she was going to say, "you really shouldn't have. I didn't get you anything..."

"I'm not giving you this because I expect something from you," he interrupted, "I'm giving you this because I want to. So, please, accept it. Besides, it's not much. You'll see."

He handed the package to her, and he watched as her curious eyes took in the present. She carefully opened it, and she looked at him in surprise when she saw what it was.

He'd gotten her a copy of Jane Eyre, simple as that. He wished he could have given her something more expensive – perhaps some jewellery – but it didn't feel appropriate. He could only hope she'd like it.

"But... how did you know?" was her only question.

"I noticed you've borrowed it from the library quite a few times," he simply said, "I stopped counting at the eighth time. And I thought... Well, if you like it so much, you should have your own copy."

"I... I don't even know what to say. I love it," she said with a smile. "Thank you."

He merely smiled at her, for he knew there wasn't much he could say at the moment. He wished he could talk freely to her – with no boundaries of morality or secrets.

More importantly, he wished he could be a free man to tell her his own feelings.

"Do you know what I like about this book?" she asked him, while still watching the book's cover, "The way love is portrayed. It's just a book, I know. It's not like any of these events ever happened, but... I like how even though there are so many obstacles and things happening, her love can't be changed."

He had read the book once before, a long time ago, but he still remembered the plot – and truthfully, it troubled him a little that she liked this book so much.

"I doubt every man has a crazy wife locked in the attic, though."

His heart seemed to be beating louder at the mere mention of the word _wife_, and for a moment he thought she might know everything, everything from his past to his future, and he wondered, not for the first time and he knew it wouldn't be last one either, if they could ever be graced with a future together.

She laughed, but it was barely a laugh, in reality.

"I think, sometimes, the attic can be more of a state of mind than a physical place," she said slowly, "but perhaps I've read this way too many times and I'm overanalysing things."

The room suddenly felt too crowded, despite them being alone, and he thought that, perhaps, it was time to go to sleep.

"Well, now that you have your own copy, you must read it once more," He said in an attempt to lighten the mood, "You know, just to be sure it's same book as the one in the library."

"It won't be any sacrifice to read it again," she smiled. "It was very thoughtful of you to give me this. Thank you."

Perhaps he couldn't make her happy, and perhaps they wouldn't ever be together, but for now – for now, her smile was enough to keep him living.


	3. 1914

_1914_

She had been looking for him, because she hadn't seen him since lunch and he had seemed to be in a quiet mood – something that rarely proved to be a good thing nowadays.

Their relationship hadn't progressed much in reality. She knew he loved her – or, at least, she thought he loved her. She wasn't sure; he never said a thing.

That, however, didn't change the fact that _she _loved him, and she was worried about the directions his thoughts seemed to be taking him.

She found him in the servant's backyard. The afternoon was coming to an end, and even though it wasn't snowing, she thought it was far too cold for him to be sitting there alone for no reason whatsoever.

"I was looking for you," she said as she approached him. "What are you doing out here? It's freezing."

"Just doing some thinking," he said, his voice sounding distant.

"All alone on Christmas Day?" she teased, "Isn't that a bit depressing?"

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, and that made Anna even more concerned. Perhaps he wished to be somewhere else today?

She sat beside him, determined to overcome the cold to find out if anything was wrong. She could spare a few minutes; it was Christmas Day, after all.

It didn't take more than a moment until he spoke.

"Do you miss your life before coming to Downton?"

The question took Anna by surprise. Of course she missed her old life – briefly, occasionally. She never gave these thoughts much attention, for she knew it wouldn't help her current situation.

"Sometimes, yes," she said after a moment, "I do. But it feels like another life sometimes. I was a child when I came to work here. I'm not that child anymore. The perspective changed, and I changed with it."

"Wise words."

She smiled, "Do you?"

"No, not really," he said, and she had to admit his words caused her some relief. "In my adult life, I don't remember being as happy as I am here."

She wondered how many more secrets he had – she wondered how many things he hid from her, afraid she would change the way she saw him after she learnt something he thought immoral. She maintained her position. There was nothing he could say to change her opinion about him. It was too late for that.

In fact, she wondered if there was ever a time when it wouldn't be too late.

"And for that I'm glad," she said, "Here I was, thinking you were wishing to be home rather than here. You got me worried for a second."

He presented her with a faint smile, "Well, we can't have that, can we?"

His words brought a smile to her face as she remembered a previous conversation from years ago.

"Tired of dancing already?" he asked, referring to the activities in the servants' hall during the Christmas afternoon. Anna smiled.

"Mr. Branson is too much for me," Anna said quietly, "I'm not sure I can handle another dance with him."

"Well, he's certainly very... spirited."

Anna laughed, "He is. And I'm not much of a dancer as it is, so I'd prefer a slower partner."

"You dance very well, Anna," Mr. Bates said.

Anna looked at him, mildly embarrassed and not quite used to compliments.

"Well, thank you," she told him with a smile, "But how would you know? You've never danced with me!"

"But I've seen you..."

"Watching doesn't prove your point," she stood up and put her hands on her hips, "Let's dance."

His look was surprised but he smiled all the same; staring at the floor with a somewhat mischievous look on his face, his voice was very quiet.

"You know, a lady wouldn't ask to dance with a gentleman."

"I believe I've told you before, Mr. Bates, that I'm not a lady," Anna said, her tone as teasing as his, "A gentleman would have asked me to dance already."

He pointed at his cane, "I can't dance, Anna."

She frowned, "I'm not asking you to waltz, Mr. Bates. Come on, what's a celebration without dancing?"

With a somewhat displeased look on his face, he reluctantly stood up, and Anna had to stop herself from grinning at his sight; he looked like a little boy who didn't want to do his homework. It was quite adorable, in Anna's opinion.

He awkwardly stood, and with a grin, she took both of his hands and put one of them on her waist while she still held the other. With a triumphant smile on her face, she looked up to see a nervous expression on his face. She wished he would hold her a bit tighter.

Her smile turned more inviting and confident, and she started to move very slowly, hoping it wouldn't trouble his leg. Judging by the way his face relaxed a bit, she didn't think his leg was troubling him. They just didn't need to move too fast.

"See?" she said tentatively, and he looked at her face, "This isn't so bad."

He let out a soft laugh, "This isn't dancing, Anna. This is just... moving."

"Well, we're doing a good job out of it so far, aren't we?" she said a bit impatiently, "It's Christmas. We're allowed to do whatever we want."

He smiled down at her, "Are we?"

"Well, not really," she laughed, "But it's nice all the same. I'm happy to be here with you. I'm not really missing Christmas at home right now."

"Well, they do say that home is where the heart is," he said as they suddenly stopped, "and I am home. So I don't wish to be anywhere but here."

They shared a smile, and Anna wondered if she had enough courage to lean in and steal a kiss from him. Could she? No, she would never do such a thing. She wouldn't push him. It will happen when it's supposed to happen.

Still, his cryptic conversations were somewhat tiring sometimes, especially after a hard day of work; that wasn't the case tonight, and Anna was willing to go wherever he wanted to. She wouldn't push like she had done some other times, in the beginning of whatever kind of relationship they had. She loved him, she knew so for many months now, and she doubted her feelings would ever change. She couldn't know if he felt the same – it seemed so, but she wasn't sure. But Anna liked to think that she was an observant person, and for some time now she became quite adept at reading Mr. Bates's quirks and thoughts.

She just wasn't sure how accurate they were.

"You _are_ a lady, Anna," he told her quietly after some time, and her heart skipped a bit. "Never say otherwise."

They stopped dancing, or moving, like he said previously, and she looked up at him. With a faint smile, she looked at the ground between them, wishing they were standing closer together. There the floor was, that ever existing distance between them, a distance she didn't exactly know why was there at all.

Before she knew it, his hand had left hers and he reached for her chin, making her look at his eyes.

"I'm not lying, you know," he told her with a smile, "You really _are _a lady to me."

His hand caressed her cheek ever so slowly, and she closed her eyes in anticipation, feeling his breath mingle with hers as he leaned in closer to her. His lips brushed hers ever so softly, his skin warm against hers as they shared the brief existence of a kiss. He pulled away quickly, a loud voice coming into their ears, but still obviously inside the house; they hadn't been disturbed yet.

He looked a bit nervous when she opened her eyes, after a moment. Was this the moment she had been waiting for after two years? Would she know the truth about him, about his situation?

His eyes were kind and had a glimpse around them, something that made him look younger; something that Anna wasn't sure what it was. Could she dare to think it was love? Perhaps. The air around them was cold, but Anna had never felt warmer than when she was in his arms. They shared a faint smile before he spoke again.

"This was a very nice dance, Ms. Smith. Thank you for being such a wonderful partner," he said playfully, "But we should go inside. We don't want you catching a cold. The times are bad enough with the war going on."

Anna was more than happy to follow him inside – because there was nowhere she'd rather be as well.

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**A/N: **I had planned to update this earlier, but things have been busy. Next chapter will be posted in a few days. Hope you liked this one! Thanks for reading!


	4. 1915

_1915_

It was becoming some sort of tradition between them, to sit together after everyone's gone to bed; it gave him a sense of peace, serenity and even intimacy when he entered the servants' hall and saw Anna making them some tea. For anyone else, it would seem such an indifferent scene. For him, it meant the world. It made him imagine how it would be, if they lived together as husband and wife in a house that would be just theirs. Would they have such simple, domestic moments that would become so special?

Today was certainly no different; it was perhaps even more special, because it was Christmas. He was beginning to cherish the holiday - if it meant that he would receive an even brighter smile from Anna, he wished it were Christmas every single day of the year. Would they spend Christmases together, in front of their every own fireplace, in their own house? Would he ever sleep with her in his arms?

How he hoped those wishes and those thoughts could be made into facts and possibilities in the future.

A few weeks ago, he made the decision of telling Anna all of it – his failed marriage, his estranged wife, and the impossibility of them ever becoming more than what they already were, despite what they might feel for each other. Because he was tired of lying to her – she didn't deserve lies and vagueness; she deserved honesty and love. He didn't try to lie to himself either – he loved Anna, but they could never be, and he made that very clear to her. There were tears – Anna's tears – and apologies – his apologies – but now she knew everything and at least he didn't have to hide anything from her.

To her credit, Anna didn't bring up the subject again. He knew her enough to know that she hadn't given up on them, but Anna always had so much grace upon her own misery that he loved her even more for that. She didn't let her own life meddle with other people and she didn't let herself down easily.

For she always had hope – hope that they would someday be together. Hope that she would have the life she had always dreamt about.

Or perhaps it was faith?

But in reality, there was something he never told her about.

_He_ hadn't given up on them yet. He had secretly been looking for Vera for more than years now, but luck wasn't on his side. She could be anywhere. But he couldn't give up; he had to try and get a divorce and marry Anna and make her happy. Because there was nobody who deserved more happiness than his beloved Anna.

"Ruth went to the village today again," Anna mentioned the housemaid with a smile, "I think she's been walking out with Mr. Gibbs, from the post office."

"Mrs. Hughes won't like that."

"Well, I won't tell her, and neither will you," she said and he smiled, "I think he's quite serious about her. We might have to start looking for a new housemaid soon."

It seemed almost normal, casual for them to be talking about another person's romance; perhaps, for Anna, it was just another simple conversation. It was nice to have so much trust within each other.

Still, at least in his mind, there was no worse topic than marriage. For several reasons. During his time at war, he never even spoke of his wife – he left England fully knowing that the war might kill him and truthfully, during that time he didn't care. His time with Vera had been so dreadful that he had no desire to return to her.

After his time in prison, he made a note to himself to not think of his marriage – it had never done him any good, and the idea of living with Vera again was nearly impossible. He resigned himself to not ever loving again – or at all, since he didn't really think he had ever loved Vera – and to never really know what a real marriage was.

When he met Anna and their relationship started progressing so naturally he started thinking of marriage – or, rather, imagining what their marriage would be like. She was young, beautiful and so, so lovely, and yet she loved him and didn't care if they would never marry.

"It wouldn't be the first time, and certainly not the last one," he told her, "Did she tell you anything?"

Anna shook her head, "Just that he's a very nice man. I'm glad for her. She never told me she wanted to be in service forever, anyway. She's always wanted a different future."

"Well, almost everyone does," he said thoughtfully, "Don't you?"

She averted his eyes and seemed quite interested on her tea, "Yes, of course. But sometimes it's best to not think about it much."

Her smile seemed sad, and he knew exactly what she was talking about.

Could he give her some hope? The same hope that had been filling his heart and mind for the last months?

There was nothing worse than false hope, but in the moment it didn't seem like false. He would find Vera, he had to; his chance of happiness and Anna's happiness depended on that.

"Anna," his quiet tone made her look at him once more – really, really look at him. "I have... I've been looking for Vera these past months."

"You've – oh," her face fell and she seemed confused for a moment. He reached for her hand.

"I want to find her and... I want a divorce. I've spoken to a solicitor about the situation, and I think I might be able to get a divorce if I find her," he explained, looking at their intertwined hands. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want to get your hopes up. I can't promise you anything, and I don't want you to feel somehow bound to me, but I thought you ought to know."

Anna stayed silent, looking at their joined hands, taking in his words.

He grew nervous as the seconds passed by; he didn't really know what his words meant, if he were honest to himself.

"What I mean," he continued, "is that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Anna. I'm resigned to the current situation and if this is all we can have, then so be it. I shall be happy with it. But if I can do something else, I will. I love you, Anna."

He had said the words before, obviously. He didn't do it on a frequent basis – if he remembered right, he had only said them twice before. He couldn't ask her to marry him, he had absolutely no right in his situation. He wasn't even legally allowed to do so, and Anna knew that.

He was so consumed in his own thoughts he didn't notice when her free hand came to caress his cheek and he looked at her. She had a small smile on her face and she seemed a bit overwhelmed when she spoke.

"I'm glad you told me that, and I'd like to be kept informed," she said quietly. "I think we should be glad that we've found each other, no matter what happens. I don't care if we're not allowed to touch or to kiss. As long as you're here – I don't care."

He smiled, "I don't deserve you."

She silenced him with a sweet, loving kiss.

That night, when he was in bed and thinking of Anna, he dreamt of what the next Christmases had ahead of them. He felt relieved, lighter even, to have shared his hopes with Anna. And that night, as he succumbed to a dreamless sleep, he felt confident that better times – happier times were ahead of them. And with Anna by his side every day, with her smiles and her optimism, he would gladly wait for these times to come.

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**A/N: **I was going to save this chapter for later, but I don't think I'll be able to post anything until the end of the week, so here we are. I really hope you've enjoyed 1915! Thanks for reading, and have a nice week!


	5. 1916

_1916_

It's Christmas, and he thinks about her.

He thinks about her all the time, it doesn't matter the time or the day. He misses her, and if thinking about her was a common occurrence when he was at Downton then it's the only thing on his mind now that he's away.

Still, today it hurts him even more, because he knows she's thinking about him. He knows how the day is important to her, and he hopes she's smiling and having fun. Because she should.

It hasn't been more than a month since he left, and at first he thought – or rather hoped – that this would cease. He knew he'll never forget her, no matter what. But he hoped he would be able to keep her at a distance from his mind, because he knows this does no good to him. Why think about happy times when he should be content about where he is now?

He shakes his head. He will never be content. He just couldn't. Not without Anna.

And if he were honest, his thoughts and memories about her were the joy of his days. He is living because of the memories, he is living through the memories, because he knows he won't be able to be happy where he is now.

Leaving was the right thing to do; he didn't regret it, but he tried not to think about everything that happened much. He merely lived, day by day, ignoring Vera's attempts of conversation and trying to ignore her at all. He's always happier when she isn't around, and that's a fact that has been going on for many years now. In truth, he knows she can barely stand him, and he knows that's probably why she's never home. He knows she must have someone else, and he knows he'll have to find out more about that if he wants to be free.

Hope sometimes leaves his mind, but he tries and tries to keep having faith. He doesn't have Anna to tell him that, but he constantly wonders what she'd say about this, what she'd tell him about that. He dreams of her all the time, even when he's awake. Especially when she's awake.

Even doing nothing, even knowing nothing, even far away, Anna is his strength. He only hopes she's alright.

He wonders, sometimes, when hope is lost on him, if they'll ever see each other again. If in ten or fifteen years, they'll see each other and he'll be a miserable old man with an unhappy life, bound to a lifeless marriage. And he hopes, he truly hopes, she'll be married then. With children, maybe. Other man's children. Not his. Never his.

He writes her letters. He apologises. He writes everything that's made him leave Downton, leave her, leave home. His letters are long and short and sometimes confusing, but not a week passes by when he doesn't write her.

But he never sends her these letters. She mustn't hear about him. She must go on with her life, without him. She deserves to be happy, and he wishes he could be the one to fulfil her dreams, but he knows he can't. Not now, and not in the near future. She doesn't need to be reminded of him.

He knows he can't hear of her, but that doesn't stop his thought from going to her. He thinks about what she's doing now; maybe dancing with Mr. Branson? Or perhaps chatting with Mrs. Hughes? Maybe even talking to Mr. Molesley? He hopes so. He wants her to be happy, and he wants her to find someone who can make her happy. Who can give her the life she deserves. Who can give her what he can't.

Eventually, as he walks around an empty park, he finds himself remembering past Christmases, happy Christmases with Anna. He remembers her dancing, and he remembers her smile and he wonders, not for the first time, what good did he do to have her love.

He wonders what would he happening if he were at Downton, if he never left, if Anna were by his side. He plays this out in his mind sometimes; dreams of a life that could never be. Dreams that are so, so much better than reality. Every day he wakes up wanting to get a train and see her, talk to her, kiss her, feel her skin against his. But he won't. He can't.

Would she ever accept him back, in case he returned? He doesn't know. He tries not to think of the possibility. He tries not to hope. But again, he remembers Anna's voice from many memories, and he knows that there's no doubt in her mind about him. There never was any doubt. She is consistent, stubborn, and he loves her so much he knows his love is even greater now away from her. His love for her never stops growing, and he knows it never will stop. He will never forget her, and he doesn't want to.

The air is cold against his nostrils, and he knows it's time to go home. He doubts Vera is there at the moment, and he prefers it that way. He doesn't want a bad Christmas memory, not after the last few years. For, even in doubt, even in frustration, he had Anna by his side, making him smile and care for a day he hadn't known why to care for a long time. He wishes he could tell her something, send her something. But he knows he mustn't.

As he walks back to the house, he thinks about his past unsent letters to her. He always apologises, he always tells her why he left, but he never tells how his life is. She shouldn't know. She should never know.

He arrives at his mother's old house and it's empty, much for his relief. It's warm but it doesn't look like home. It'll never be home, and he knows that.

He sits by his desk, needing to write something. Maybe something different. Maybe he'll send this letter this time.

He writes about his day, and how he thinks of her. He writes her of a little girl he saw on the street that looked like her. He writes about the weather, and he writes about the war. He asks about everyone at Downton, he asks about her. He tells her about his memories and his dreams, wishing he could tell her everything he didn't have the chance to. Regretting, regretting not having kissed her more, not having embraced her more, regretting not telling her how he loved her more.

Because he does. His love for Anna is immeasurable, and it was always hard for him to put it into words.

As he reaches his concluding and parting words, John sighs tiredly. How can put it into words?

He stares at the unfinished letter, and thinks himself silly.

He would never send it anyway. And how can he wish her a happy Christmas when he's had such a miserable one?

He stops his writing and folds the letter. Maybe, someday, he'd be able to tell her everything in person.

And that's the thought he clings to every night before he sleeps. The hope of seeing her again.

The hope of making her happy.

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**A/N: **This chapter is much more introspective, and while that's not really my thing, I think it felt like the best way to explore their separation. I'm a bit worried about this, and I'd love to know what you think of it. Also, I want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed - I haven't had much time to reply to everyone, but really, thank you. Next Christmases won't be very happy, I'm afraid, so bear with me! Anyway, thanks for reading!


	6. 1917

**A/N: **First of all, sorry it took me a while to update. I had written this chapter before and I hadn't been very happy with the result, so I've re-written it. I'm not sure if it's turned out the way I wanted it to, and I really hope it is not too out there. Anyway, that's for you to judge. Really, really hope you'll enjoy it. Thanks for those who have reviewed these last chapters! I have yet to respond to each of you, and I will, as soon as time allows it. Thanks for reading!

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_1917_

She knew where he was and, somehow, that helped. Having seen him only a few days ago, she knew he was alright, sometimes even in a good spirit. She knew he wasn't far away, and that helped a lot. He wasn't there with her, but she knew she would be able to see him tomorrow and she woke up happy at the prospect of seeing him so soon after Christmas.

Still, as the day progressed she couldn't help but miss him. That wasn't an unusual occurrence anyway; she missed him constantly, even now, even with the comfort that he was alright, that he missed her too. But as she reminded herself so many times, it could be much, much worse.

It was late when she reached the kitchens; it was more a habit than a need to go for a cup of tea before bed, a habit she'd shared for many years with John. She remembered the last Christmas and how awful it was, how she couldn't help but remember happy times with him and how it was, in the end, the worst Christmas of her life. No kind words were needed, for none would make her feel any better, but she hadn't expected to, anyway.

Today, however, it presented her a new situation, and she could endure herself a little dreaming, a little wish; John wasn't so many miles away, after all, and he'd seemed hopeful and happy and optimistic the last time they spoke. She would let herself ponder over the possibilities for their future – because she was certain they'd have one, together.

She sat there, in the servants' hall, and thought she might as well do some mending while still awake; like she often reminded herself, Christmas was still a work's day, unless you wanted to spend the next day filled with unfinished and unwanted business.

She wondered if someday she'll leave this life, this life that's made so happy and so sad at the same time – the endless working hours, the little sleeping time, mending, fixing, tidying, and never for yourself, always for others. Could she think of those plans they'd made in the previous year? Could she think about their own home, their own family?

She'd be lying if she told anyone she never thought about that life, that dream of a life. It was her solace and her sadness at the same time. She imagined their home, she imagined their life, she even imagined their children – would they inherit John's kind eyes and smile? Or perhaps stubborn like herself?

It wasn't wise, she knew, to think about these things – it only served to send her to an unreal world, a world that, as of here and now, could never exist. But she needed to keep faith and she needed to hope, and she wasn't willing to give up on her dreams.

She heard footsteps and looked at the clock on the wall – it was too late for anyone to be still up, but you never knew. Soon enough, she saw someone's shadow and looked up to see Ethel with a somewhat surprised look to find her there. She was clad in her sleep clothes, but there wasn't a trace of sleep on her face.

"What are you doing here, all by yourself?" Ethel asked her as she made her way into the servants' hall.

"Habit. And this mending won't be done by itself," Anna said, "What about you?"

"Can't sleep. I think I ate too much," Ethel said, sitting down in front of Anna in a nonchalant manner, "You always stay here 'til late, don't you? Why?"

Anna looked up and met Ethel's curious glance; she sighed.

"I told you already. Habit," she said simply, "I'm used to staying up late. There's always work to be done. I've been doing that for years."

"I s'ppose company would make things a little better," Ethel suggested, supporting her head on her hands while looking at Anna's needlework, "D'you mind if I stay here?"

"No," Anna told her, "Anyone's better than Ms. O'Brien. She's the only one who keeps me company these days, and only because she has work to do."

They shared a smile, and Anna truly appreciated Ethel's company. Sometimes she could be very inconvenient, but Anna had grown to like the younger housemaid; she was no bad person, and even if her dreams and hopes seemed a bit distant, how could Anna blame her? Her dreams and hopes were probably as distant and unlikely to happen as Ethel's, but it didn't mean she would stop hoping.

"Did he use to stay here? With you?" Ethel's voice was quiet and tentative, and it startled Anna a little.

She thought about not responding, and she thought about asking her about what exactly she was talking about, but Anna knew it would be of no use. What would matter anyway? John wasn't around anymore, and wouldn't be back for a while. Ethel had no confidents in the house, and even so, Anna would never tell her anymore than she should know.

Anna stopped her mending for a moment, collecting her words; she spoke again, without looking up.

"Yes, he used to keep me company," she told Ethel, "He always had a lot of work to do too, so it was never a bother. To me or to him."

"That's nice," Ethel's sincere tone made Anna look up at her, "I don't suppose you know where he is, do you? I mean, I've heard Mrs. Hughes talking of him. It'd be nice to have back, now that Mr. Lang is gone."

Anna smiled sadly, knowing she couldn't tell Ethel that yes, she knew precisely where John was.

"I don't think he'd tell me where he is. He'd probably think it'd best for me to not hear anything of him."

Ethel remained silent for a moment, obviously trying to choose her words carefully, and Anna tried to prepare herself for what was to come.

"If he came back... If he came back, would you forgive him?"

Anna stopped her mending abruptly, not expecting this at all. Obviously it bothered her a little, to be asked of such a question, but the younger housemaid seemed truly curious; perhaps there was more to Ethel than childish notions and hopeless dreams.

"There's nothing to be forgiven," Anna said simply, "He did what he thought it was best for everyone, including me. He hurt me, yes, but I know it wasn't intentional."

Ethel, of course, didn't know the entire story, and Anna was sure she was probably thinking she was a fool; Anna didn't mind, though. She answered the question with sincerity, perhaps more than it was necessary, but she was starting to blame this conversation on the late hour.

"I s'ppose that's what love is," Ethel said after a moment, "To understand, even when you can't."

Anna grinned, "That's one way to put it, yes," she started to put her things away, and saw Ethel's distant expression, "Have you ever felt that way, Ethel?"

Ethel shook her head, "Not really. But perhaps it's best this way. If there aren't things to understand, then there are no problems, right?"

Anna frowned, considering her words.

"I wouldn't know," Anna answered, "For me, there are always many things to be considered and understood. And for him too."

They parted soon after that, Anna leaving Ethel downstairs before going to the bedroom they shared; that was an odd conversation, but Anna knew it was only natural for Ethel to be curious. She was young and didn't understand a lot of things, and there weren't many people who could handle her petulant questions and silly comments. Still, Anna couldn't help but think that perhaps she was a bit like that once, many years ago. Ethel deserved some attention, every now and then.

As she climbed onto bed, she made a mental note of telling John of this conversation next week. She was sure he'd find it at least amusing, and would probably make some smart remark at Ethel's inconvenience. Anna smiled at the thought, letting her mind wonder once more to those forbidden thoughts of another life, with him.

Still, if she thought about it, her life was with him already, even if they were not quite together. She carried him with her everywhere, in her thoughts and always in her heart. And she knew he did the same to her. For no matter what had transpired between them, love was understanding – and, much like Ethel said before, even when it couldn't understand.


	7. 1918

_1918 _

He watches her from where he's sitting, her smiles infecting his troubled mind, and he smiles because of her, even though she's too distracted to notice him.

He isn't sure if it's because the past two Christmases weren't exactly happy, but this is becoming the best Christmas he's ever had in Downton. With the ending of the war and things getting back to normal, it was nice to see some joy around the place. He doesn't even think about Vera's death and his uncertain future. He thinks about Anna, dancing with Thomas on the corner of the kitchen, laughing and having fun. He doesn't even mind about Thomas; he can't properly dance with Anna, and Thomas apparently enjoyed dancing.

Jane is playing some animated song on the piano, and it's a joyful song. John remembers a time when who used to play the piano for them was William; Daisy was always eager to dance, but this Christmas she sits on the far end of the table with a somewhat sad expression. John can't blame her.

Instead, the housemaids took turns with Thomas and sometimes Branson; even Mrs. Hughes joined them once. It was so nice to be here, seeing Anna right in front of him with a smile on her face and apparently no cares in the world.

"Won't give it a try, Mr. Bates?" Branson asks with a grin, sitting beside him. John knows the young man's question was innocent and turned to look at him.

"Not today, and certainly not next year, Mr. Branson," John says, looking at Anna again.

"Watch out. Thomas might try to steal Anna from you," Mr. Branson says with a sly smile, and John lets out a hearty laugh.

"I highly doubt that will ever happen."

"Yeah, me too," Branson says, looking at Thomas and Anna, "She's a good girl, Anna. You're a lucky man, Mr. Bates."

He thinks of a man who has said these words before, and John turns to look at Tom Branson; his tone is innocent, and he knows Anna and the chauffeur have grown closer in the months he spent away from them. An insecure man would probably be jealous of a young, healthy man who would be a suitable pair for a young woman like Anna. And John was, indeed, insecure; insecure about his future, insecure about his relationship with Anna, insecure about his late wife's death. But if there was one thing he couldn't feel insecure about, that was Anna.

John pursed his lips thoughtfully before speaking, "And that's what I tell myself everyday."

"It's good to have you back. She's happy," Branson says, "Do you plan on getting married soon?"

"We've decided to wait a bit more, but I hope it's not for long," John tells him.

Branson nods thoughtfully, "I hope so too. If the girl I love wanted to get married, I'd do it in a blink of an eye."

John laughs, "Then she's a lucky girl."

Branson smirks a bit sadly, "I wish she only thought so too," the music stopped and he looks at Thomas and Anna, who are apart now, "Do you mind if I dance this one with Anna?"

"Not at all. You can go," John tells him, and the young man is on his feet immediately, walking towards Anna. A new song begins, and at first Anna tells him no, but after seeing John's small smile she nods at Branson.

John watches them, and how they stand close together – not very close, but close enough – and wonders if one day he would be able to see Anna so careless and happy like this, every day; if he could make her happy every single day of her life. Lord knows he'll do his best to make this happen.

She glances at him a few times, that huge smile still on her face and her cheeks are flushed and there are a few locks of hair free from its safe bun, and he thinks she's never been so beautiful. Branson swirls her around and she laughs, and suddenly he thinks the air is too stiff in the servants' hall, and the noise starts to irritate him. He thinks only of Anna, and about how he wishes he was able to dance with her like that. Nowadays he only sees worry in her eyes, worry for him, for them, for a future that might never be. She deserves better.

He makes a silent exit, deciding to go to the servants' courtyard to catch some fresh air, and finds the cool air refreshing and somewhat hopeful; sitting on a bench, he knows he shouldn't think about these things so much.

They had agreed to wait – or, rather, he insisted it was best if they waited a couple of months before getting married. He would seem too suspicious if he married Anna so soon after Vera's death, and Anna agreed with him. Still, he never thought... is Anna happy? He isn't sure anymore. Could he make her happy? She couldn't be happy now, not with their situation as it is. Who would be happy, anyway? Anna is understanding, and patient, and that only made his love for her grow with each passing day, but he wonders her real thoughts about this. Anna has always been very vocal about her feelings and thoughts, but lately they both have been quiet, not really knowing what to think.

Somehow, he feels this is just the beginning, and it's not a good feeling. He wishes he could see Anna's smiles and hear her laughing every day of his life – if he did, he was sure he'd die a happy man.

The backdoor opens and the noise startles him from his thoughts; Anna appeared, and smiled at him amusedly, obviously pleased with his surprise. She walks over to him, her breathing a bit erratic from the dancing, and the heat from it now clashing with the cold night air makes her cheeks even more flushed. She tries to make her hair more presentable, but it's useless. She's adorable, and she doesn't know it.

"What are you doing out here alone?" she asks him, sitting by his side, "I looked and you weren't there anymore."

"I could use some fresh air," his answer is simple, "Enjoying the dancing?"

"Yes," she answers him with a smile, "I'd enjoy it more if you tried to dance a bit, but I know what you think of this, so I won't push it."

He smiles back and slips his arms around her waist and pulls her closer, feeling her shallow breaths against his chest. Her hands move naturally to his chest and she looks up at him.

"Are you enjoying Christmas so far?"

"Of course I am. You're here with me," he says in simplicity, earning a smile from her.

Looking at her now, seeing her flushed face and perfect smile, he knows he must have done something right to have her here with him. Vera's death doesn't matter, and neither does his drinking a few years ago. He's blessed, blessed because he loves and is loved back. Blessed because the same person who owns his heart also gave him hers.

He smiles back, allowing himself to be happy; her smile did that to him. Maybe he isn't like Thomas or Branson. He's also sure that Anna certainly deserves a better man. But for once he keeps these thoughts aside – here she is, in his arms, with a happy smile on her face. He needs to work on making that smile permanent.

He looks quickly at the door that leads to the servants' hall – it's closed and despite the cold air around them, he feels a bit warm. It's quiet and he can still hear Anna's now slightly faint breath.

He leans in to kiss her, thinking it has been a while since they exchanged a kiss – work has been very time-consuming and they haven't been able to steal more than casual touches here and there.

Her lips are warm against his, and he pulls her closer, her hands instinctively moving to his shoulders. She sighs contently against his lips when he moves to kiss her neck, while her fingers move to his hair, and his are perilously approaching her bosom. He knows they'll need to stop soon. They've reached this point way too many times before, but never in such a situation – in which everyone is having fun only a few feet for them, and anyone could come looking for them.

It's hard for him, seeing her every day and knowing how she loved him and was devoted to him as much as he was to her, and never do anything about it; never properly showing her how he loves her, how much he wants her with him every day, and every night, how much he longs for her when they can't steal a few minutes to be together. She shifts beside him, her hands moving to toy with his tie, and he shifts as well, his hand moving to her thigh and her hip, positioning her on his lap; he knows they must stop soon, but feeling Anna so close to him, so happy and so passionate is a difficult thing to bear. Their kisses turn out more frantic, and he smiles when he kisses that spot on her neck, making her mix a giggle with a moan; he wishes he could hear that sound every day.

When he feels Anna's mouth on his earlobe, he knows the time to stop has come. He kisses her lips softly one more time, before lightly kissing her temple.

"We need to stop," he whispers, and she nods with her eyes closed.

She sighs and settles her head against his shoulder, "We _always_ need to stop."

He lets out a soft laugh at the tone of her voice, sounding almost like a petulant child. Yes, they always needed to stop. Every single time.

"It's only for a couple of months," he finds himself saying, and she pulls away to look at him.

"A couple of months?" she repeats, her tone light and teasing, "Y'know, Mr. Bates, sometimes I think you're just playing with my feelings."

He laughs and shakes his head, "No, Anna. I could never play with your feelings," he says in a serious tone, "Let's just try to be married until next Christmas. Then we won't need to stop anymore."

"That's a nice prospect," she tells him, another adorable smile playing on her face, "I look forward to many happy Christmases by your side."

He indulges himself a smile as well, "And happy they shall be."


	8. 1919

**A/N: **I've struggled a lot with this chapter. This has been my fourth attempt at writing it and I'm not sure I'm entirely happy with the way it's turned out. I do hope it does justice to the moment, and I hope you'll like it. Thanks so much for reading!

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_1919_

Anna opens her eyes slowly; she still feels tired, after a restless sleep. She looks at the bedside table, checking the clock. It's the usual time – still too early for anyone to be awake and way too late for anyone to go to bed. She's alone in her room, which has been the case since Jane left, nearly eight months ago. During some days, she wishes she had someone to share the room with – she remembers Gwen and their silly conversations, gossiping about the rest of the house. She remembers Ethel and her misguided questions, her silly comments. She remembers Jane and her kind words. But, most of all, she remembers John.

How was it that one night shared in the same room –the same bed – could have changed her so much?

That she thinks of him all the time isn't new; that has been the case for several years now. That she worries about him – not new either, having worried about him almost as much as thinking of him. Lately more than usual, what with his trial coming up, the trial that would decide his future – and hers as well. Still, in this cold morning, she doesn't particularly think of it. The trial is in the back of her mind all the time, even now, but her thoughts are otherwise occupied.

She remembers his touch, his smell, his kisses. She has it all so vividly in her mind and engraved in her heart that she wonders if she's still asleep, dreaming again – for that is such a common occurrence as well, her dreams with him. Again, that has been the case for several years now. But now, the dreams don't bring her hope as they used to. All too often she wakes up crying, crying because she realises that's not the reality. It never helped to dream of him nowadays – whether it is a nightmare or a good dream. Now, she remembers past dreams, dreams from years ago. She remembers dreaming of his touch, of a life with him. She remembers his smile and children's faces and a home together.

Unfortunately, they never happened. They weren't even on the past, for they were only inside her head – in her mind and her imagination.

She doesn't move; her only movement is the quiet blink of her eyelashes. She doesn't cry either; it's Christmas, she realises, and John would hate it if she cried. She maintained her peace of mind – she was all too used to her quiet times early in the mornings. She closed her eyes for a moment. She feels tired. She imagines how John is right now. Perhaps he's asleep.

She remembers him sleeping, his soft breath against her ear, his arms around her waist. She remembers the beating of his heart when she rested her head against his chest. She remembers his hoarse voice when he woke up, and she remembers how he peppered her with kisses in the middle of the night – that faithful night, that wonderful night. It was perfect, just like she thought it would be. She remembers his hands too, and his touch, and his warm skin against hers...

She opens her eyes again, the threat of tears so constant that she's used to it. She won't cry today. She can't cry today. That's her personal challenge, her Christmas gift to herself. She won't cry. He'd hate it if she cried.

She rubs her eyes tiredly. She's sleepy, but she knows it won't matter if she tried to get some more sleep. She rarely did, anyway. She has had little sleep these past nights. She doubts she'll ever sleep peacefully again – not until he's beside her, anyway.

She had prayed that they'd be together today; she remembers a promise made a year ago, that this Christmas would find them married.

And they are married. But they aren't together.

She doesn't think about the past Christmases, for they are too painful for her to bear. His memories started to grow painful as the months passed by and he still didn't come back. She deliberately avoids thinking of important days – like when he first professed his love to her, or their first kiss, or the day he entered her life. Oddly enough, they don't comfort her. They often make things worse.

She tries not to think of him, because she knows she'll just be more miserable than she already is, but it's useless. She's always thinking about him. She never stops thinking about him. It's the most constant thing in her life – almost like the beating of her heart or the air she breathes.

Random conversations and moments bring some comfort to her, sometimes. Sometimes it's the smallest of things – a stolen look they had shared during dinner after a particular comment someone made; the little smile she was always greeted by each morning, when she arrived for breakfast; the occasional touch below the table, their fingers intertwined and the rest of the world oblivious to his. These little moments sometimes give her strength – give her hope, hope to share touches and glances and smiles and not mind if the others saw it. Hope to live the married life they had wanted for such a long time. Hope to go to sleep with him and wake up with him by her side, healthy, content, in love and happy.

So, so happy.

The clock ticked quietly and she wonders if she should try to go back to sleep. She had a busy day ahead of her. She needed to try and celebrate with everyone.

The tears are becoming difficult to control right now, but Anna doesn't cry. It's Christmas. She has always loved Christmas.

She doesn't love this day, though.

Christmas has always been source of joy to them, when they were together. She remembers gifts and smiles and late night conversations. So many talks of the future. So many promises, so many hopes. This year, however, she doesn't think of what the future holds for them. She doesn't wonder about how the next Christmas will be. She prefers not to; the possibilities are many, and most of them were too painful for her to think about.

She's constantly in pain, and she finds it hard to smile these days. She tries to tell him otherwise, and she tries to smile and tell him everything's going to okay when she visits, but she knows that he knows the truth about her smiles. They are fake. She has hope, of course, but she can't smile anymore. Not without him. Not without knowing he's happy.

She tries not to worry too, but that's an useless effort as well. She worries all the time. She worries about his future, their future. She wonders if he's eating well. She wonders if he's warm enough. She worries about his thoughts while alone, because she knows him and she doesn't want him blaming himself for anything. Nothing that happened was his fault.

But mostly, she worries that he'll regret everything – regret their marriage, regret their love, regret her.

Because she can never regret it. None of it. How can she regret having his love? She could never do such a thing.

She craves for his touch so much. She longs for a kiss, longs to feel his lips against hers. She longs to see his hands, feel them against her skin, his free hands, without those handcuffs she loathes so much. She wants to talk freely to him, without anyone listening. She wants the liberty to touch him, because she only had that for one night. She wants a future with him, a life with him, a family with him.

Because they both deserve this so much.

The wind blows outside and Anna blinks. A tear slides down her cheek.

She doesn't only remember. She wishes too.

Perhaps a year ago, if someone asked her of her dreams and hopes she'd have said a list of things she wanted in her life. Marriage, their own house. Children, in the future. A safe life. No problems at all. Just blissful happiness.

Today, however, she only has one wish.

She wishes her husband will wake up beside her in the next Christmas.

She hopes for another chance of happiness with him.

She sees that she can't ignore her thoughts of him, of them. She wasn't able to do that on his birthday, or on the anniversary of their first kiss. Christmas isn't much different.

And alone in her room, with the house completely quiet and asleep around her, Anna cries.


	9. 1920

**A/N: **So here we are at 1920. Now, I so hope that Bates will be out of prison before 1921, but Fellowes often surprise us - and really seems to enjoy making Anna and John suffer. Anyway, this could be AU in the future, I don't know. Maybe it won't be - we'll have to wait a little longer to find out. Really hope you'll enjoy this chapter. Thanks for reading!

* * *

_1920_

It was cold and dark – much like it always was in this place, but tonight it seemed even darker and colder than normal. Perhaps it was the atmosphere. He shivered slightly, trying not to think of the gravity of the situation he was in, but it was impossible. He had failed; failed in his life, failed in his judgement and failed in his heart. He didn't want to look at the people who were sat in front of him as someone read his verdict once again. He felt cold, and still he was sweating. His breathing was shallow; this was his fate.

He would be hanged.

He felt the rope sliding against his neck. He heard sobs – familiar sobs, painful sobs. Anna's sobs.

He needed to get out, but he couldn't. He couldn't run away – too late for that. He had ruined everything; he should have told the police about the rat poison before they got to him. He should have done things right – he should have made Anna happy. He had failed, and there was nothing he could do about.

The air suddenly left his lungs – he couldn't breathe. He looked at Anna, at her crying face, and pleaded that she would be happy. He heard a scream. He couldn't breathe. He just couldn't breathe.

John opened his eyes suddenly, his breathing erratic and feeling the sweat on his forehead. He adjusted to his surroundings – their bedroom, at their cottage. He rubbed his eyes, his breathing slowly returning to normal – he sighed in relief, his hand covering his mouth in disbelief. It had only been a dream. Just a bad dream. His eyes adjusted to the dark room around him, and he turned his head ever so slightly. Anna was sleeping peacefully by his side, her even breathing blowing against his ear ever so softly.

It had been just a bad dream.

He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling calmer. It had been quite a while since he had had this kind of dream; dreams with prison happened every now and then, but his conviction had stopped haunting him once things were going a little better and he let himself hope. Perhaps it had been because of the conversations in the previous day – wishes of a better Christmas and talks of how rough 1920 had been, especially for them.

But not anymore.

He got off of prison only some time ago – what was it, five, six weeks ago? He wasn't sure. Time had seemed to fly past him now. His days passed by quickly. His free time was spent with Anna, with whom he now shared not only his life with, but also his home, his heart and his bed. He was free now, for the first time in many, many years. Free to love Anna. Free to kiss her, to touch her. Free to work and free to life.

The dream did not torment him. It was over and how good reality was. He smiled weakly in relief, and turned his head to watch Anna. She seemed to be deep in slumber, a content little smile playing on her features. He fought the urge to touch her – he didn't want to wake her; he knew how she praised her sleep and he wanted her to feel rested for their day – their first Christmas as husband and wife, together.

Watching the sleeping face of his wife was a privilege and a gift that John would forever cherish. He never got tired of watching her, even when she was awake, but in the nights, when she was vulnerable and with a naked expression on her face, that's when he liked to watch her best. It was still difficult for him to believe that everything was alright. But he knew that. He was here to stay, and he would make the most of his time. Anna breathed in deeply, her eyelids fluttering ever so slightly, but she didn't wake up.

He didn't want to stop staring.

Anna was too precious and any time spent with her was too valuable for him to waste. He didn't want to miss a moment with her, never again. For too much time they'd been apart, and he was finally letting himself live. She sighed in her sleep, and he admired her soft features in the dark. She seemed very peaceful and content. He vowed to keep her that way forever.

He just couldn't resist. She was here, beside him. No problems; nothing to come between them. He took a chance to take a lock of hair off of her face. His beautiful Anna. So strong, and yet so fragile. So kind and so passionate. After everything they've been through, it was almost a miracle that they could be here, together and with no worries around them. No more divorce problems, no ex-wife, no prison, nothing.

Just Anna.

"John," Anna's voice surprised him, "you're staring again."

He smiled, even though she couldn't see him with her eyes closed. Knowing she was now awake, he moved his hand to her waist and pulled her closer to him. She happily indulged, her eyes opening just when they were inches from each other. Her smile was sleepy and her expression was adorable.

"Sorry," he said, kissing her temple softly, "It's still hard to believe that I'm here, with you."

"Well, it's been months. You should be used to it by now," her voice was hoarse with sleep but she didn't close her eyes, "Is it time for us to leave?"

"No, not yet," he told her, "Happy Christmas."

She blinked a few times, as if trying to comprehend the situation. A slow smile appeared in her features, and she rested her head on the crook of his neck, nudging him lightly.

"Happy Christmas," she whispered against his skin, "It'll be a happy one, won't it?"

He let out a laugh, "Yes, it will."

"Hmm. I think so, too," she said quietly before kissing his neck, "Even with you waking me up at this ungodly hour."

Her breath against his skin sent shivers down his spine. It was amazing what Anna could do to him. He sincerely hoped he'd never get used to it.

"I didn't wake you up," he said, bringing her body even closer to his, so that she was resting almost on top of him, "You woke on your own."

She turned to look at him and shook her head, "You were staring. You woke me up."

He was about to retort something in answer, but she was already kissing his lips by then, her soft hair brushing against his face; he pulled her closer and stroked her waist, moving his hands to her hips, a bit irritated by her nightgown. She trailed her kisses across his cheek and stopped when she reached his neck, again resting her head against him. He smiled. Anna had a bit of a problem with waking up, and he found it endearing. Most of the time, anyway.

"I'm sorry for staring," he said, moving his hand to stroke her hair, "It's just... Sometimes it's too good to be true. To be here, with you. I don't know what I did to deserve you, but..."

"Don't say that," her voice interrupted him, much stronger now; she raised her head to look at him and put her hands on his cheeks, "Please, don't say that. You're an honourable man, the best husband I could ever have wished for, and you're such a good man. You deserve this. _We _deserve this. And it's happening now, and it's true. I love you, and I want you to see that you are worthy of this."

He stared at her; her eyes were fierce and her expression, firm. Seeing her like this only reminded him of many reasons why he loved her – even if he didn't need a reason to do so. It all happened so naturally between them.

"You might be right," he said sincerely, "But I truly don't think any man alive is worthy of you."

Anna smiled a bit helplessly, "Silly beggar."

"And yet, somehow, you love me," he said teasingly, "Thank you, Anna. I know I've told you before, but you were the only thing that made me want to live, months ago."

She smiled a bit sadly, and he knew she was thinking of those hopeless, never ending days where it had seemed impossible for them to be together again. When he saw the smallest trace of tears in her eyes, he immediately regretted the subject of conversation – he absolutely hated to see her crying. Caressing her cheek ever so lightly, he kissed her again, a bit more forcefully this time, but she kissed him back with almost as much fervour. It was silly to have this constant feeling of dread around him; they were happy, and that was what mattered. But after everything they'd been through, it was a bit difficult to trust that everything would be alright, and he was certain Anna felt the same.

"I love you," he told her in a whisper, "and I'll make this the best Christmas you've ever had. I'll make it up to you, Anna."

She shook her head at him, her eyes no longer sleepy. She caressed his cheeks and smiled at him, a bright smile, and he knew the tears in her eyes were happy ones.

"Oh, John," she said, "You don't need to make it up to me. You're here. And that's exactly what I've been wishing for. This is the best gift anyone could ever give me."

Slowly changing their positions so that Anna lay on her back once again, he fussed a bit shyly with her nightgown as they kissed. It had been a few weeks since he came back, and they were still adjusting to married life. Not that that required much adjustment. Emotionally, he felt he had been married to Anna years ago. And as she tilted her head ever so slightly and deepened their kiss, he was sure she wasn't having much trouble adjusting to the physical part of their marriage as well – he certainly wasn't. He felt Anna's hands against his chest, and found out she was unbuttoning his pyjama top; he trailed kisses across her collarbone, and smiled inwardly when his hands brushed against her side and she giggled. With her help, he discarded the offensive nightgown onto the floor, and continued to kiss her. He savoured her soft lips against his, her warm skin brushing against him, her hands stroking his skin softly.

"We do have enough time for this, don't we?" Anna asked a bit breathlessly as he kissed her neck.

He kissed her lips, interrupting her, and he smiled broadly at her.

"We have all the time in the world, my darling," he said with confidence in his voice, and Anna smiled in return, kissing him.

He was sure their Christmas would be great, for he didn't remember starting a Christmas Day as well as this one.


	10. 1921

**A/N: **I'm not entirely happy with the way this turned out, but I hope you'll like it. :) Thanks for reading, and a review is always very much welcomed. ;)

* * *

_1921 _

Everyone was looking forward to Christmas, as usual. Everyone was laughing, the Granthams were all together, and they all had the promise of a good Christmas. John was so happy, smiling and talking to Mr. Carson. So many changes had happened over the past years, and it seemed that better times would finally come. Everyone was so optimistic.

Everyone, except one person.

She was sure there was something wrong with her. She had always adored Christmas, but this year the spirit didn't reach her. She was happy, but she didn't feel so happy with herself sometimes, and that bothered her. She talked and laughed, but her mind couldn't focus. So, she chose to focus on her work instead. With Lady Sybil home, she was again serving as lady's maid, which was something nice for a change; when Lady Mary married Mr. Crawley, she served as her lady's maid for a while, but when John had been set free she went back to Downton; she wanted to be near her husband.

She thought she would be able to control herself on Christmas, but she was so wrong. Seeing them all, there, happy and with everything going the way it should be... she just couldn't handle it anymore.

Everyone was having babies but she wasn't.

Lady Sybil already had little Edward, and not long ago she found out she'd be having another child; Lady Edith, after much speculation, would also be welcoming a child in less than four months. Anna was sure it would only be a matter of time before Lady Mary's turn came.

She was happy for them. Really, she was. How could she not be? She saw those women grow up in front of her eyes, get married and now they were having children.

But she wasn't. Oh, how selfish she was!

Maybe she was too old – maybe she couldn't have children, after all. They couldn't be doing anything wrong, could they?

She had actually been happy at first, when she didn't get pregnant immediately after John was back. They needed to know each other as a married couple. They had been married for more than a year and yet they hadn't lived together while married; she thought that, for once, things were happening the way she wanted them to. But more than a year later, she started to worry.

What if they'd never have children? Oh, how disappointed John would be.

But these situations were common for her these days. She grew up in service – she knew how to control her emotions and her thoughts. But today... it was Christmas and things were different.

It was the end of the morning, and she had just finished the last bedroom when, as she walked down the hall, she heard little fast footsteps and saw little Edward running eagerly towards her, perhaps a bit too fast for her liking. The child giggled when he saw her, and Anna smiled; she doubted Master Edward was supposed to be running alone around the house at such a time. With a skill she didn't know she had, she balanced her cleaning materials in one hand and bent down to pick him up, knowing he would probably reach the stairs soon if she didn't intervene.

The child stared wide-eyed at her, but he didn't cry nor seemed uncomfortable. A little more than a year old, Edward Branson was a quiet child, unlike, as everyone said, Lady Sybil had been. He settled in Anna's arms, his little hands reaching for her cap, his blue eyes wide staring at her.

Just as she rounded the corner she spotted Ms. Watson, little Edward's nursemaid, walking towards her.

"Master Edward! I was looking for you everywhere!" Ms. Watson said, smiling faintly at Anna; the nursemaid was young and a bit shy, and Anna hadn't had much of a chance to chat with her, "Thank you for taking care of him. Now that he's starting to run, you blink and you miss him."

Ms. Watson had arrived only a few days ago; Lady Sybil had been opposed to the idea of having a nursemaid at first, but with Lady Grantham, the Dowager Countess and Lord Grantham insisting, the Bransons acquiesced.

Anna smiled sympathetically, "It's alright. He ran into me, actually."

Ms. Watson smiled, "He has a lot of energy," Ms. Watson said, turning her eyes from Mr. Edward to look at Anna, "You're Mr. Bates's wife, aren't you? Ms. O'Brien told me."

Anna didn't find it particularly good that O'Brien had been talking to a stranger about her, but she smiled all the same.

"I am," Anna said simply.

"I heard about what happened to him. Such an injustice," Ms. Watson said, shaking her head.

The conversation was starting to get a bit personal, and out of Anna's comfort zone, so she merely nodded.

"Yes," she started, "but it's all better now. That's in the past."

"Mr. Bates seems a very nice man," Ms. Watson said, and Anna wondered if the nursemaid didn't have anything better to do, "Do you have any children?"

Anna stopped smiling at the sudden question, and stood in silence for what seemed like years, when in fact it was only about two seconds.

"Silly me, of course you don't," Ms. Watson said, rolling her eyes, before Anna could answer, "You're still in service, after all. But then of course Mr. Bates isn't so young anymore."

Anna blinked, unsure of what to do. Ms. Watson was definitely crossing the boundaries, and Anna wasn't happy with it.

She excused herself and started to make her way down the stairs. Ms. Watson was too young to understand. And anyway, what business did she have with her family?

Because they were a family. John and her. A small family, but still a family. It didn't matter that they didn't have children. It didn't. They had talked about it before, years ago, but now they didn't really approach the subject anymore. Perhaps John didn't want children? No, he made it clear several times before their marriage that he'd like to have a family with her.

How she wanted to have a family with him. She knew what people thought about them – it'd been more than a year since John returned to Downton as a free man and they didn't have any children. Even her own mother approached the subject a few times, and she looked more worried than curious. But these things took time, didn't they? Anna kept trying to let it go. It didn't matter. She knew she'd be happy to spend the rest of her days with John by her side. But that didn't diminish the fact that she wanted more.

Perhaps there was something wrong with her. John wanted a child, and she hadn't been able to give him one. They weren't parents and oh, how she wanted to be a mum.

When she finally entered the servants' hall she immediately saw him, sitting by the table talking to Mrs. Hughes. Their eyes met and he smiled, but Anna found out that she couldn't. Would she ever see him smiling at their child? Would she ever see him holding their baby, talking to their son or daughter?

She felt tears in her eyes and averted his gaze, one that, by now, looked concerned. She put the cleaning materials away and walked past the servants' hall's entrance to the backdoor; she needed some air and she knew that everyone was inside, getting ready for Christmas.

When she got outside the tears were already falling down her cheeks, and she was soon sobbing uncontrollably, her emotions finally giving away after so many months of frustration.

She was going to disappoint her husband; she feared she was already doing so. And she didn't know what was worse: John's disappointment or never becoming a parent.

Were her fears so unjustified?

Sobbing loudly, she froze in her spot when she heard the backdoor opening. She had her back to the door, thankfully, and with a quiet sob she rubbed the reminiscence of tears off of her cheeks, knowing it was a bit useless because she was still crying. When she heard the soft noise of that half-step she knew so well, she knew it was him.

She turned, knowing there was no point in hiding anything – for years she had never hidden anything from John, but in the past few months she hadn't been very sincere with him about her feelings and her thoughts.

"Anna," he started, "what's wrong? What's happened?"

His voice was so soft and quiet, and his expression so worried that she couldn't quite control herself. She fell into his arms, new tears falling on her cheeks, and she hated herself for making him worried about her.

"I'm sorry," she told, her head against his chest and his arms around her back, "I'm sorry, it's... it's nothing."

"Anna, this isn't nothing," John told her firmly, "What's wrong? Tell me."

She sighed and tried to get a hold of herself; she wouldn't help anyone by crying so much. He didn't press her, and gave her time to speak, and she thanked him for being so good, so understanding even when he didn't understand something.

"I'm just... worried," she started in a whisper, "It's been more than a year and there's just the two of us and I'm... Of course I'm happy, but I want... And I love you so much, and I'm so afraid I'll disappoint you..."

He pulled her away from his embrace to properly look at him. With a kind smile, he brought his hands to her shoulders and squeezed them softly.

"You could never disappoint me, Anna. Never," he told her, "But I'm afraid you're not making much sense."

She sniffed and blinked a few times.

"Master Edward ran into me upstairs," she started again, more calmly this time, "And Ms. Watson said... she asked if we had children. What if... What if we never have children, John?"

He rolled his eyes, "Anna, don't mind about Ms. Watson. She doesn't know anything about you, nor about us."

"I _know _that," Anna said stubbornly, "But it's been more than a year, and we still don't have a family, and even my mum is questioning be about this..."

"What? Your mum?"

"What if I'm too old, John?" Anna asked him, ignoring his last question as she felt new tears in her eyes, "What if I've lost my chance?"

"Anna, you're not too old. You're young and you're perfect," he told her, his eyes never leaving hers, "These things can take time, and... well, if it doesn't happen then we'll deal with it together."

"But what about our plans..."

"As much as I'd love to have a child with you, you're the most important person in the world to me," he interrupted her, "And if we're not to be parents, then so be it. We're a family. You're my family, and you make me happy and I don't want you blaming yourself for it. Alright?"

She nodded silently, and he brushed a tear away with his hand.

"Don't hide your feelings from me, Anna. You've always been quite good at making them known," he said playfully and she smiled, "There's the smile I love. What do you always tell me? No one should be miserable on Christmas."

He pulled her back to his embrace, her palms stopping at his chest and she inhaled his scent, feeling much more relaxed and happier than before.

"We'll be together for whatever happens, Anna. Don't ever forget that," he kissed her hair, "But please, stop caring about what Ms. Watson or your mum think. I know it's difficult and I know how your mum can be pressing, but there's no pressure on my part and you shouldn't worry about these things."

She nodded against his chest, "Yes, you're right. I'm sorry. I just feel like I'm doing something wrong."

"The only thing you're doing wrong is being so sad on Christmas Day," he told her with a smile, "The Anna I know would have a broad smile on her face and so much happiness in her heart."

She looked up at him, "I am happy. You know that, don't you?"

His smile was knowing and full of love, and she found herself falling more in love with him in that moment, something she didn't think was possible.

"I know that," he said simply, leaning in and kissing her lips ever so tenderly, "I love you, Anna."

"I love you too," she told him, a happy smile now threatening to erupt into her features, "We better get back. Let's celebrate with them while there's still time."

They exchanged a smile before Anna led him back to the servants' hall; she pushed her previous thoughts aside, deciding this wasn't the time or the place to mind about them. John was right; in time, they would deal with these issues – if they ever exist – together.

Her smiles were careless and her laughs were happy during lunch, and she caught him staring at her more times than usual; for the first time in months, her smiles to him didn't hide any thoughts or worries, and for the first time in months she felt free.

He was right. Ms. Watson and her mum didn't matter. The only person that mattered was him – and if, unfortunately, they were to remain just two, she'd be content with it. Even after all this time, her love for him only grew. It was still early to tell, but if they were to be a childless couple, she could live with it.

As long as they were happy and together, she had nothing to worry about.


	11. 1922

_1922_

Anna sighed impatiently. She had been trying to sleep for at least an hour now, after waking up rather hastily to the sudden need to relief her bladder – and she reluctantly had to let go of her husband's arms around her and stood up. When she returned to bed, John had his back to her, his snores not so softly reaching her ears, but not loud enough for her to complain about it. When she lay down on the bed again, nearly an hour ago, she couldn't find a comfortable position to sleep in – a not so nice side effect of being pregnant for eight months now. The few times she actually managed to nod off a bit, a sharp pain on her ribs prevented her from doing so – it was quite obvious that her baby was wide awake and feeling a bit agitated. Anna was sure she shouldn't have eaten so much at dinner with her parents, earlier that evening.

Tired, and almost giving up on sleeping, Anna decided to get up; she stood up slowly, careful to not make any noise as to not disturb John. She put on her slippers and her dressing gown, that did nothing to hide her growing belly, but it warmed her up almost instantly against the coldness of their cottage. Once outside their bedroom, she walked down the stairs, not daring to turn on any lamp until she arrived downstairs; John was light sleeper and she could sleep during the day if she wanted to, especially now, when she had so much time for herself. John, however, still worked until late hours every day, and he needed as much sleep as he could get.

Only when she opened the door to the parlour she felt safe enough to turn the lights on; they were incredibly lucky that Mr. Crawley had been adamant to have electricity on the cottages, while they were being renovated. Cringing ever so slightly as she sat down, she was all too used to the backache and late night bothers; Dr. Clarkson had assured her they were fairly normal at her stage of pregnancy, and even though it had been a while since Anna had a full night of sleep, she didn't mind much. She could endure these changes – it wouldn't be much longer until she would be able to see her baby.

Anna sat down on the comfortable sofa and looked around sleepily, the pain on her ribs no longer existent. Out of habit, her hands came to rest on her belly, and she decided she might as well do something useful while awake. She had been knitting some baby booties earlier, as her mother assured her that, with the cold weather, the baby would need much more clothes than they anticipated. John had laughed when she told him this – he told her the baby would be too big before he or she were able to wear all the clothes they had already at least once.

John had assured her, many times before she got pregnant, that he wouldn't mind if they never had children, and after having a somewhat serious talk to her mother on the matter, Anna stopped thinking about it. John had been right – they were perfectly happy together. And it would do her no good to keep pondering this sort of matter. It was by mid-June, however, when she found out she was having a baby – and she couldn't have been happier.

John had been happy too – ecstatic, even – and his questions of how she was feeling or if she needed anything became very, very constant. He was a little overzealous sometimes, but Anna found it endearing; he had always cared for her well-being, even when they weren't more than friends, and she knew that wouldn't change after they learnt of the baby. He would be a great father.

Sometimes, though, Anna wondered if she was really prepared for this; pregnancy already changed her life so much, and she took a while to get used to some changes. Not working, for example, proved to be a very boring change; she cleaned their cottage and went to the village to do chores and sometimes even visited Downton Abbey, in the beginning, when she knew she might find John or Mrs. Hughes with a bit of free time.

With time, however, she got used to it. As John often said, when the baby arrived she'd miss these quiet times. For some reason, though, Anna was sure she'd welcome busy times happily.

She glanced at the clock, her hands working on the well-practiced movement with the needles. Almost three o'clock. It was Christmas already. Anna smiled.

She leaned into the back of the sofa, all the pain gone now; perhaps she could go back to bed and try to get some sleep. She generally slept better when she could lean onto John's body – sometimes it would ease the pressure and her backache would be gone if she relaxed just enough. As if to contradict herself already, she felt something – perhaps an elbow? – against the skin near her navel. It seemed like the baby wasn't anywhere near sleep, after all.

She and John had even decorated a tree for this Christmas; they had done the same last year, at Anna's insistence, but this year John had even bought more colourful decorations and, for the first time ever since they met, Anna saw him excited for it. She thought it was great, of course, but maybe that there might be something more about this. After much insistence and teasing on her part, she figured it was because of the gift he had bought her – but that didn't mean she knew which gift it was.

She took a chance and looked at the few presents under the tree. Surely John wouldn't know if she opened the one she knew he bought her.

Anna shook her head, with a smile playing on her face. No, she would wait – she knew she could wait until morning. She was, after, a patient person – such patience in waiting she learnt from all the years waiting for John to take a stand on their relationship, from all the years waiting until they were able to marry, from all the time she waited until he'd be free to come to her, for good and proper, and for the last few months, while she patiently waited for their baby to be born.

Yes, Anna was a very patient person.

"Anna?"

The quiet voice behind her made her jump in surprise; she had been so immersed in her thoughts she hadn't heard a thing, not even John's quiet half-step from upstairs. She closed her eyes, before turning around as much as she could from her current situation.

"Oh, John, you gave me such a scare!" she said good-naturedly, watching as his eyes adjusted to the light; his face was sleepy and, like her, he had put on his dressing gown before coming here, but he had yet to wrap it around his waist. He had a frown on his face, and seemed a bit worried, "Is something the matter?"

"Nothing," he said as he walked over to the sofa with the help of his cane, "I was a little worried when I realised you weren't in bed. Are you feeling alright, my dear?"

She smiled at him, looking up from her knitting, "Yes, just fine. Someone was a little agitated this evening and I couldn't sleep. You should go back to bed."

He smiled but ignored her last comment, choosing to sit right beside her. He stifled a yawn and extended his right leg, earning a sympathetic smile from Anna; she knew his leg bothered him more on cold days such as this one.

Anna put her knitting materials away on the side table and turned to him, only to find John staring back at her. She let out a small laugh.

"Happy Christmas, John," she said, pointedly looking at the clock; he imitated her, and smiled brightly, even if still a little sleepy.

"Merry Christmas, my love," he said at last, one of his arms making their way around her shoulders as her brought her closer to him and they shared a soft kiss, "And a happy Christmas for the baby too, of course."

Anna chuckled, "I bet it is. It looks like there's a party on my belly tonight."

His hand came to rest on top of hers, and he kissed her temple, "I had a dream about the baby tonight."

"Really?" Anna asked with interest, "What was it about?"

"Not much," he said, "You were holding her. That was it."

Anna smiled and pulled away just enough to look at him, "It was a girl?" he nodded and Anna grinned, "Well, then her name wasn't William."

They had settled, quite a few months ago, that if they had a boy, his name would be William; it had been Anna's suggestion, and John happily agreed with it. Anna had cared for William like a younger brother, back when he had first arrived at Downton, and they had become good friends after that; she also knew how John had cared for him. Of course, they might not have a boy, but names weren't something that appeared to be so urgent, at least not until recent weeks, when realisation hit them that the baby would soon be born.

"No, I suppose it wasn't," John said with a somewhat shy smile, "I've thought about a name. In case the baby is a girl. What do you think about Margaret?"

Anna smiled; she had thought about his mother's name as well, but she wasn't sure he'd want that. She remembered Mrs. Bates fondly, much like an old friend, as they had many nice conversations, all those years ago. Anna often visited her while she was in London, sometimes even with John, but most of the time, alone. John rarely spoke of her, and Anna knew he still missed her to this day.

And Anna thought Margaret Bates had a nice ring to it.

"Margaret Bates," Anna said, trying out the name and thinking of her daughter, "I like it."

"It does seem an awfully long name for someone so small, though," he said thoughtfully, "We could call her Maggie."

"We could," Anna agreed, "I've always wanted a nickname. Obviously my name was too short for that. Maggie is adorable."

"I can give you a nickname, if you want to," he said with a grin, "How about 'prettiest woman in the world'?"

Anna laughed out loud and shook her head at him, "John Bates, aren't you a sweet talker?"

He kissed the corner of her mouth, "Well, you are," then kissed her fully on the lips, "I have no doubt of that."

He deepened their kiss, Anna relaxing completely on his arms; she was no longer in pain or uncomfortable. She laced her fingers together at the back of his neck, bringing him even closer to her.

"Do you want to come back to bed now?" he asked her a bit breathlessly as they parted.

Anna grinned and nodded, "As a matter of fact, I do."

He stood up and held her hand to help her up as well. They kissed once more and Anna stopped in the doorway to turn off the lights.

He was kissing her neck when she remembered something.

"I don't suppose we can open the presents just yet," she said in a quiet voice as her husband peppered her with kisses.

"Definitely not now," he mumbled, and Anna smiled.

She had a lot to look forward this Christmas.

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**A/N: **And a happier Christmas they got! I really hope you enjoyed this one; only one more and that's it. I'd love to know your thoughts too. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! :)


	12. 1923

**A/N:** I had been meaning to finish this before S3 airs, and I'm so glad I've reached my goal. :) Warning: **fluff alert**! This should keep your spirits up, if you like fluff, of course - because God knows when we're having something like this happening on the show. Hope you like it! Thanks so much for everyone who has read and reviewed this story - it really means a lot!

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_1923_

John opened his eyes slowly, adjusting them to the lightness of the room. It was morning. Christmas. The house was quiet. He slowly moved his hand to the other side of bed, knowing it was still early – but there was nothing – or, rather, no one – resting beside him. John frowned at this. It was unusual for Anna to be up before him. He usually woke up before her, for work, but it did happen occasionally. Sometimes he would wake up at the usual hour to find her with the baby, demanding her attention. But in the past months, however, this had been getting rarer and rarer. Maggie was generally an easy baby, though at times her stubbornness could be noticed, even at the young age of eleven-months-old. Anna often said that was a trait Maggie took from him, but John disagreed.

The baby, as it was, had a lot of Anna in her temper and personality. And for the past weeks, Maggie had graced them with the ability of sleeping through the night, only sometimes waking up a little earlier than usual. John supposed today was one of those days. When he looked at the clock, however, he was surprised to see it was a little past seven, way after the usual time he woke up at. But he didn't worry; Lord Grantham had been kind enough to grant him the morning and part of the afternoon left – to enjoy his daughter's first Christmas, in his Lordship's words. John accepted the generosity gratefully.

Two minutes later, he was out of their bedroom, walking silently across the small hall, even trying to not make much noise with his cane. When he peeked into the door of the first room, the nursery, however, he found it empty.

He made his way downstairs and smiled when he heard muffled voices coming from the parlour. It would be nice to have a quiet morning with his family, something he rarely had the chance to nowadays. He often came home in the afternoons for tea if he had the time, and he always spent his half-days off with Anna, but, unfortunately, there were some days where he arrived too late to catch Maggie awake. On these days, he could generally account Anna to stay up waiting for him – but she'd be out like a light after welcoming him home.

Still silently, he reached the door to the parlour and took in the sight of his family. Anna was crouching down, talking to their daughter, and Maggie was standing up, her mother's protective arm holding her back so she wouldn't fall over. Maggie was wearing a comfortable romper, an indication that Anna had already given her a bath, but her mother was still wearing her nightclothes; Anna's hair was still loose, not braided, the way he liked it. She pointed at their Christmas tree and shook one of the decorations. Maggie giggled and he saw her extend her little chubby arms to touch it. They learned shortly after they decorated the small tree that Maggie had liked it. It was, after all, colourful and sparkly, two characteristics that would earn a baby's attention.

Anna turned her head then and smiled when she saw him.

"Look who is here!" she said excitedly, turning the infant ever so slightly, making Maggie turn her head too as two pairs of identical blue eyes came to look at him. "Who is that, Maggie?"

"Pa!" Maggie answered happily, already wriggling off Anna and taking tentative steps towards him.

John's heart swelled with pride; people could tell him anything about babies, but Maggie surprised him by each day. She was speaking for some time now, mostly incoherent words, but she already knew all the basics, and her small steps grew confident as time went by. He walked towards her too, slowly, making her walk a little more before picking her up in his arms. He smiled as she settled comfortably in his arms and he smelled soap and that nice baby smell he had come to know and love for the past months.

"Happy Christmas, Maggie," John said, kissing the top of her head. Maggie didn't reply, all too interested on the buttons of his pyjama top. He noticed her hair was curling. She was growing up – no longer the tiny baby who kept them up at night or the small newborn with almost no hair and curious eyes. He turned his attention from his daughter and looked at Anna, who was now walking slowly towards him. "Happy Christmas, Anna."

She smiled sweetly at him, "Happy Christmas. Did you sleep well?"

"I did. You should have woken me up, though," he told her as she approached him and kissed him lightly on the lips.

"I didn't have the heart to wake you up. You're rarely home in the mornings, and we stayed up so late last night, I thought you could use the extra sleep," she told him sheepishly with a small grin on her face, "If it's any consolation, Maggie was already awake when I went to check on her. I overslept a little myself."

"You should have awoken me and I could have taken care of her for you," John complained lightly, caressing Anna's cheek.

"It was no trouble. I just fed her and gave her a bath. The usual. Miss Bates here has quite the un-changing routine," Anna said, stroking Maggie's arm and making her throw herself at her father's chest. John chuckled. "We should just enjoy it while she isn't running around yet."

"That we should," John agreed wholeheartedly, "Shall we have breakfast, then?"

"Oh, of course. Only," Anna hesitated a little, but at John's arched eyebrows she continued speaking, "I was hoping we could open the presents first."

John fought the urge to chuckle, but couldn't help but grin. Of course Anna wanted to open the presents now.

"Don't give me that grin," she said with a smile, "It's Maggie's first Christmas. It's important."

"Of course, my dear," John agreed, kissing the top of Anna's head, "Let's open the presents. I'm sure Maggie is excited about it."

At the sound of her name, Maggie turned and looked at them expectantly, waving her arms at Anna, expecting her to pick her up. Anna smiled and did so, balancing Maggie against her side.

She rolled her eyes, "She is excited about it. Well, maybe not now but she will be, I'm sure," she looked at her daughter with a bright smile, "Won't you, Maggie? Won't you?"

Anna spun her around, making Maggie squeal in delight, and started walking towards the small but friendly Christmas tree. She put Maggie on the ground as she kneeled to take a look at the few presents underneath. John chose to sit on the sofa beside the tree, and smiled at his wife and his daughter. Anna reached for one of the presents, wrapped in a bright red paper, which attracted Maggie's attention. John frowned.

"Did you buy this one?"

"No, it's from Lady Mary. For Maggie," Anna said excitedly, "I've wanted to open it ever since she stopped by yesterday with this."

"That's nice of her," John commented as Anna eagerly opened the package, talking animatedly to Maggie in the meantime. The baby seemed far more excited by the paper, as her eyes darted from Anna to it, and when Anna revealed a very nice white little dress for Maggie, the baby reached for the paper and started to rip it into pieces, far more interested in it than in the dress.

"Oh, it's so pretty," Anna cooed, her fingers going through the soft material. She held it up for John to see. "What do you think?"

John smiled at the soft pink dress as Anna held up the matching bloomers. "I think it's a very generous gift."

"It really is," she agreed, "Maggie will look so sweet wearing this. I'll have to see if it fits later. I think it might be a little too big for her now, but that's even better. She can wear it for a little longer then."

She carefully passed the present to John, and he examined it before putting it to his side on the sofa. Maggie wasn't interested in the wrapping paper anymore, and John observed as her curious eyes darted from the tree to Anna, who was now stretching over her daughter to get another present. John cringed as Maggie threw her little hands up in the air, and he knew what she was going to do. Before he had any chance to stop her, however, it was done.

"Ouch," Anna exclaimed as Maggie had pulled her necklace towards her. She pulled away from Maggie, making her free the necklace from her hands. "No, Maggie. It hurts Mama if you pull her necklace."

"No?" Maggie said; she knew she had done something wrong. John smiled. His girl was so clever.

"No," Anna said with conviction, her fingers caressing the locket in her necklace absentmindedly.

He had given her the gold necklace with the locket in the previous Christmas; it was, by far, the most expensive gift he had spent on her until then, and Anna had been enchanted by it. Its chain was delicate and feminine, and the oval locket wasn't very big, but he thought it was perfect for Anna. He had given her a wedding ring, of course, but all of her other jewellery – which weren't much – came from his mother. The locket now contained a small picture of Maggie, taken only months previously. It had one more space for a picture. Anna rarely took it out, sometimes hiding it beneath her dress to wear something else, but never taking it off. She had been pressuring him to take his own picture for her to keep there. He had yet to take a picture for her.

"No!" the baby repeated, her high-pitched voice making Anna shake her head, but smiling. John bent down to pick Maggie up and sat her on his lap.

"I'm sorry. I should have been paying more attention," he told her apologetically.

"Don't be. At least it wasn't my hair this time," Anna said softly. "Let's open our gift to Maggie."

"Why don't you open my gift to you first? Maggie can wait this year. I'm not sure she'll let us open our gifts first in the future," John commented, earning a chuckle from Anna, "If she's anything like her mother, that is."

Anna grinned, "So you're not the least bit curious to know what I've bought you this year?"

"Just a little bit. I've learnt how to enjoy Christmas," he mentioned with a smile, balancing his good leg up and down and making Maggie giggle happily at the motion. Anna reached for the gift with a frown, and after sharing a playful look with John started to open it.

"Oh, John," she said as she saw her gift. Mimicking what she had done mere minutes ago with Maggie's dress, she took out the deep blue dress and stared at it, "You shouldn't have. How much was this? Oh, it's so beautiful."

"Of course I should have. I noticed you had been staring at it that time we went to the village on my half-day. And I knew you wanted a new dress," he told her quietly.

"Yes, I haven't had one ever since Maggie was born," Anna said, standing up and walking towards him, "Thank you."

She kissed him on the lips, her lips hard against his own, and his free hand naturally reached her cheek, caressing ever so slightly. She pulled away and smiled brightly at him.

"So you like it?" he asked a bit nervously.

"I love it. I'll try it on later and you'll tell me if _you_ like it," Anna grinned. "Now my gift to you."

She walked back to the tree excitedly, and brought to him a small package. She took Maggie from him as she started to grow impatient at being quiet for so long; Anna tried to keep her still but it was easy to see that the baby girl wanted to be on the floor. John let out a laugh when Maggie clapped her hands excitedly as soon as Anna put her down.

Turning his attention back to his present, he opened the small box to reveal a pocket watch. He smiled.

"I know it's not the same as your old one," Anna told him softly, "But you needed a new one, anyway. I'm sorry it's not a much elaborated gift."

He looked up and smiled brightly at her, easing her worries that he might not have liked it. His previous pocket watch had been a present from his mother, many years ago, much longer before he met Anna, and he had been disappointed when it stopped working and couldn't be fixed. Of course Anna knew it had been valuable to him, especially emotionally, hence why she appeared to be nervous over a replacement. John found it endearing.

"It's perfect, darling," John said sincerely, reaching her waist and bringing her to rest on his lap, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Anna said happily, wrapping her arms around his neck and smiling as he pulled her closer for a kiss. He took a strand of hair and pulled it behind her ear as they pulled away from each other. "You know, you didn't get what I asked for this Christmas."

"I didn't."

"Will you ever take your picture for me?" she asked him with a smile, "There's space for another one here, you know."

"I know," he said simply, "But I thought that, maybe, in the future, there might be someone else and you'll feel guilty for taking my own picture to put someone else's there."

"We don't know when that's happening," Anna told him stubbornly, but her voice was soft, "It might not even happen at all. And if it doesn't, and we only have Maggie, I'll still want your picture. Will you take it for me?"

John sighed dramatically, and Anna giggled, "Alright. I'll do it."

She kissed his lips once more before wriggling out of his embrace. "Let's open your present, Maggie!"

Maggie was already at the bottom of the tree, too focused on the papers around it. He watched as Anna sat beside their daughter and opened one more package, this one revealing a teddy bear. Anna smiled as she handed it to Maggie, who was too young to really know how to play with it, but she giggled when Anna talked with her through the bear. John smiled. He was glad he got to stay home this morning.

As he looked at Anna, so happy and carefree, he couldn't help but feel even happier at this Christmas' prospect. Who knew what the next ones would bring? Each year continued to surprise him, to this day.

Anna caught him looking and grinned.

"What are you thinking?"

"Just a memory. Our first Christmas together. Remember?" he smiled fondly at her.

"How could I forget?" Anna grinned, "We stayed up until so late that I could barely wake up the next day."

"It was your idea to eat more dessert," he pointed out.

"I didn't hear you complaining!" she said with a laugh, smoothing Maggie's hair as she spoke, "Well, you didn't like Christmas then. Remember?"

"I do," he said, "But I like Christmas now."

They shared a knowing look, and Anna got back to entertaining Maggie. John couldn't help but smile as he got up to be a part of their play.

He had come to like Christmas very much, indeed.


End file.
